Halo
by insaneprincess
Summary: Rated M to be safe. He stole her halo like he stole her innocence. It took one look, one kiss, and one cheap motel room. Draco/Ginny.


_Disclaimer: JKR created the megic of HP. I merely borrow her characters for my own hairbrained schemes... Also, I do not own the wonderful song 'Fall for Anything' by The Script. Its lyrics are used at the beginning and end of this fic._

This is rated M to be safe for references to sex and for swearing. It's probably really only a T rating, and I may change this later...

I wanted to write something slightly more mature without being anything graphic... Here it is.

Review please. :D

_---------------------------_

_He keeps fuckin' with your head, tryna get you into bed  
And in the morning you'll just hate yourself_

_----------------------------_

She lies naked in the bed. The sheets scratch against her, smelling of cheap fabric and his skin. She inhales his scent.

The water runs in the other room. He is having a shower. Cleaning himself up. Making himself presentable.

She is not presentable. She is naked and alone. She feels weak.

This is how it always goes, every time this happens. He gets up, too quickly. She wishes he would stay awhile. She wishes they could lay here together, intertwined. She wishes that he would at least pretend, for a moment, that they could be together.

But he is not like that. He does not indulge in simple things like this. Once the act is done, he is up, getting a shower. Putting on cologne. Dressing in his expensive clothes.

She is always the last one to leave. He shows up late and leaves early. That is how they are.

The room is always in her name. Dare he risk his reputation, and sign his name down for a cheap room in this shithole motel. Dare he have a chance of getting caught.

The strange bit is that she used to listen to this. She used to understand, and think that it was fine. He was a big business man. It would not look good if anyone knew.

But then, it would not look good if anyone knew about her, either. She has a steady boyfriend, who loves her. They live together, god damn it. And the only thing wrong with him is that he is completely oblivious.

No, she is not sure why or how she comes here. Her brain is not part of the process, she's determined that much. Her feet walk of their own accord, her mouth lies without her consent. And Harry, sweet, caring, trusting, blind Harry, happily agrees with whatever lie or excuse she feeds him.

Sometimes she makes herself sick.

The water stops. She can hear her heartbeat.

She doesn't know why she is here. She knows that somehow, she has to be, or she won't be able to breathe. She doesn't know how or why this seems like it helps. It probably doesn't. She would like to think it does. That would make her feel better.

The room is practically bare. There is a broken television, which probably gets about three channels, but she hasn't checked. There is a tiny dresser, covered in scratch marks. There is a small cracked mirror in which she can see a blurry version of herself.

Her hair burns like fire. She looks pathetic, that's all she can get from the reflection. She looks desperate, lying there, waiting for him to walk out, say a few words and leave, without any promise of returning. Of course, she always knows he will come back, just like she always knows she will – without really knowing. But that's not the point.

She turns away from the reflection. It depresses her because everything it tells her is true.

He enters the room, and her heartbeat seems abnormally loud. He looks flawless, as always. His silver blonde hair hangs in his grey eyes, and he is smirking at her.

She knows this is because she is still naked in the bed. He looks presentable, of course, other than the fact that his shirt is unbuttoned.

She aches for him to lie back down. Just once. She doesn't need this always, but sometimes, she just craves him. When she is with him, she feels so alive that she can forget everything, and that's what she truly wants. He is a drug to her – he calms her down, lets her breathe, and is heartlessly addictive.

He is headed to the door. Oh, he'll say some form of goodbye, but he wants to go. She doesn't want him gone. She doesn't want to lay here in the dark, feeling useless and pathetic. He doesn't make her feel pathetic. With him, she is a princess, if only for a little while. But when she comes down from her high, she just feels worse.

She doesn't want to want him. She wants to be the one who leaves for once. She wants to have control for once. But she never does. She is submissive and obedient and stupid. He is cunning and intelligent and sly. He always wins.

She truly hates him.

She does not think he is a good person. He can make her feel incredible, but each time he does, another crack forms inside of her. And by now, it's a wonder she can stand without crumbling.

Then again, she's not sure she can.

He is saying something about having to go – paperwork, money, investments, she doesn't know what the excuse is this time. But it echoes in her ears, hollow, dry. It is so false, so pathetically untrue. It sounds like one of her excuses to Harry, empty and half-hearted. He's hardly trying. He knows she'll accept it.

But what if, this one time, she did not?

It takes unbelievable strength to make her mouth form the word. She has not said it in maybe forever.

"No."

He turns, surprised. He is used to her accepting everything. He is used to her dealing with it.

She is not sure she can speak anymore. That one word took all of her courage.

But she has to. She can't do this. She just can't.

"You always do this."

He raises his eyebrows at her.

She feels like she is choking. She continues anyway.

"You always rush out of here, saying you have somewhere to be. Do you think I believe that?"

He smiles at her in a condescending way, the way one would smile at a young child who didn't understand life.

He strolls back to the bed, looking down at her. She doesn't like this. She sits up.

He traces her cheek slowly. She swallows the shiver that dances down her spine.

"Sweetheart, I'm a busy man."

This is always his excuse. It sounds so fake and prepared to her ears.

Maybe he can tell she is not buying it, because he kisses her. And his kiss is too persuasive, damn it. It is too fierce and passionate and righteous, damn it. And he shatters every one of his women like this. Like they are little glass angels that he throws to the floor. She's never had a halo. He stole it from her long before she had a hope.

It is because you can lose yourself in that kiss. You can forget yourself and your place and your name and everything other than him. He is truly the centre of that universe.

She is never sure how he stole her identity. She used to be alive. She used to be able to breathe. Then he got the office across from her. Then he spoke to her. Then his fingers brushed her wrist and she shivered. Then he kissed her. Then he brought her here and they fucked until dawn.

He stole her halo like he stole her innocence. It took one look, one kiss, and one cheap motel room.

He is very close to her. She can see every colour in his eyes.

"Did you know," she whispers. "that I used to think, a while back, that I loved you?"

He freezes beside her, and she can see – and this shocks her – that he flinches at her words. It is a tiny, almost invisible movement, but she catches it. His face is blank and unreadable as she goes on.

"You never told me that you loved me, and I never told you that I loved you, but I was so sure that that was what we had. Why else would we risk everything to come here? I figured we didn't have to say it."

She trails her lips down the strong line of his jaw. She lets out an almost silent breath of a laugh.

"I wanted to believe that, I think. I think that, maybe, in the back of my mind, I knew that this was nothing, that it was always nothing and that it always would be. But I never wanted to believe that. I swallowed it, drowned it away in how amazing I felt around you."

It was the time to be honest. He made her feel amazing. But then he shattered her. And she knew she was supposed to know, it was not worth it. And it was wrong.

He seems frozen beside her.

"But do you know how much you hurt me? I could swear that I loved you, and yet, every time I was apart from you I was so broken. I was a shell. A shell of myself. And you know why? Because you, Draco Malfoy, controlled my life.

"I used to be so _alive_! I used to have a future and a purpose and a reason to everything! I was on fire! I had a _life._"

She trails her lips down his neck, and whispers fiercely. "And you _stole that from me_."

After these words she sharply brings her teeth down on his neck.

He gasps lowly.

"And I," she breathes, almost silently, "want my life back, _Draco_ _Malfoy_."

He shivers beneath her, speechless. She is sure no one had ever confronted him before.

She gets up from the bed, and pulls on her clothes, attempting to get some shred of dignity back.

He lays there on the bed and stares at her.

She zips up her sweatshirt. She opens the door.

She thinks that maybe, before she closes the door that she hears him whisper "I'm sorry", but she'll never know for sure. She slams it before she knows.

----------------------------------------------------

_Before they bring you down_

_You've gotta stand for something or you'll fall for anything._


End file.
